


Fame and Fortune

by AnnieforSimonsflower



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-26
Updated: 2005-09-26
Packaged: 2018-10-27 19:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10815024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieforSimonsflower/pseuds/AnnieforSimonsflower
Summary: Who are you when your parents are the most famous people in the wizarding world? Part of the 'Just a Little' universe.





	Fame and Fortune

**Author's Note:**

> This story is archived on behalf of Simons_flower, who passed away in 2009, by her designated archivist.

** Fame and Fortune **

What do you do when your parents are the most famous people in the wizarding world? Or how do you explain that you have two fathers? Yes, one is your biological father and the other not, but both of them raised you.

These have been my problems ever since I was born. Not that I knew it when I was born, but you know what I mean. And while those aren't my only problems, but they're certain at the core.

It's obvious who my mother is. I look very much like her, from the bushy hair to the short stature to her smile. Dad says I have Mom's smile. So does Papa. Gets confusing, doesn't it?

In case you haven't guessed, my mother is Hermione Granger. My biological father is Harry Potter -- something I can't deny since I inherited his emerald eyes and raven-black hair. My other father is Ron Weasley. And my name is Elizabeth Potter. I have younger twin brothers, Joshua and Benjamin, who are Weasleys, and a younger sister, Naomi, who is also a Potter. A matched set. Our parents talk about more kids -- and it would be about time since we're roughly five years apart and Naomi is nearly five.

The twins, unfortunately, seem to take after our Uncles Fred and George more than anyone else in the family. With their Weasley red hair and mischievous natures, Josh and Ben appear to be destined to take after one of the most famous prankster pairs at Hogwarts. Luckily, they're only ten and aren't at Hogwarts yet. Naomi is quiet and seems to take after our father. She got Mom's eyes, but Dad's unruly black hair, which she hates. She also, unfortunately, inherited Dad's eyesight, so she hates her glasses, too. She's adorable, though she'd be likely to hit you if you told her that.

When I arrived at Hogwarts four years ago, I discovered I have a reputation to uphold coupled with very high expectations. Even if my mother weren't most likely the smartest witch alive, I'm Harry Potter's daughter. That alone would cinch it for most people. Only two of my professors are totally unimpressed by my family: Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall. Papa says that Professor Snape has always been a git -- and when he says that, Mom smacks him in the back of the head -- and McGonagall has always been stern.

I can see my family sitting in the Gryffindor stands as I make one lap around the pitch. They've come to support me in the Quidditch Cup final against Ravenclaw. Between my genes and my upbringing, it's no surprise I play Quidditch -- much to Mom's dismay, that is. When I made the team in second year, my dads jointly gave me a brand-new StarTracker V.

Watching the game below me, I smile. I've heard the stories about Dad's time as the Gryffindor Seeker. However much of a daredevil he was in school, when he began playing for Puddlemere United, he became worse. I remember attending several games as a child when Mom would bury her face in her hands or my hair, unable to watch Dad dive for the Snitch (especially when performing one of his flawless Wronski Feints), while I watched, wide-eyed and enraptured. Papa is just as much of a daredevil, though I don't believe their stories about how bad he was his first year on the team.

As I said, it's no surprise I play Quidditch. Once I showed some flying skill – I think I was three – both Dad and Papa took me flying at every opportunity. Between them, Aunt Ginny and various Weasley uncles, I learned to play every position. But, I love being a Seeker best, to Dad's delight. It helps that I'm very good at it -- I constantly hear comparisons to my father. I think I would have been taken onto the team in my first year if it hadn't seemed like I was getting the position merely because of my father -- both favoritism and the fact it happened to him, making him the youngest Seeker in a century. Fame is a bitch sometimes.

Scanning the pitch below me, I see several flashes of gold, none are the Snitch. Most of the flashes are coming from the Slytherin stands, so I think Julian Malfoy distributed something to his housemates to disrupt the search for the Snitch. If Gryffindor loses, not only does Ravenclaw win the Quidditch Cup, but Slytherin will win the house cup for the third year in a row. From what my parents tell me, Julian takes after his father in many ways, even if he is only in third year. I'm always amused to hear Papa mutter, "Baby ferret," out of Mom's hearing.

A wave of noise emanates from the Gryffindor side. The score is now even again. I sweep down and make another pass by the Gryffindor stands, watching Mom trying to rein in Josh and Ben, who seem determined to injure the students in front of them with their exuberance, and eyeing Naomi, who looks up occasionally from her book. She waves as I fly by. Dad's eyes are darting about the pitch, instinctively looking for the Snitch. Papa is fixated on the Gryffindor Keeper, his fists clenched in his lap.

Smiling, I turn away toward the center of the pitch, diving gently to go under the action. Circling, I move toward the Ravenclaw goals. From the corner of my eye, I can see the Ravenclaw Seeker, Andy MacGregor, marking me. A quick scan of the area doesn't yield the Snitch, so, grinning, I go into a steep, fast climb, forcing MacGregor to follow.

Calmly, I level off even higher above the pitch than before. MacGregor gives me death glares when he catches up. I love this game. Feeling like I'm hurtling through the air without aid is the most wonderful feeling on earth; the wind ripping through my hair, making it even more bushy than usual; the gentle humming of a powerful broom underneath me, vibrating through my body. All of it makes me feel invincible. I shared that description once with Dad. After he confessed to loving flying for the same reasons, he then reminded me with a wry grin that I am _not_ invincible even if I am Harry Potter's daughter.

I'm shaken from my reverie by the darting of a golden object below. In the space of a few seconds, I check the score (210 Ravenclaw -- 200 Gryffindor) and verify that the glittering I see isn't one of Julian Malfoy's tricks.

Then I dive.

Before I even came to Hogwarts, Dad taught me how to perform the Wronski Feint almost as well as he. My focus fixed on the Snitch, I plummet downward at nearly a 90-degree angle. When I hurtle through the rest of the team, I hear a short scream, then a thud (and later find out a Bludger meant for me was taken by one of the Gryffindor Beaters – earning him two huge slabs of Honeydukes chocolate from me), both of which I ignore. The Snitch darts downward to the right and I follow it. MacGregor is far behind, not willing to perform what looks like a suicide maneuver.

Just a few feet from the wall and a few feet above the ground, I flatten myself against my StarTracker, stretching forward and dragging the Snitch toward me by my fingertips. Holding the Snitch is a strange sensation. The fluttering wings tickle, but the way it struggles in your hand makes you think it might be sentient, rather than just charmed.

A whistling noise draws my attention upward. A Bludger is headed straight toward my head. I lunge off my broom to the right, rolling on the grass as I land. My broom, now without rider, coasts to a stop on the pitch. The Bludger jerks upward harmlessly now that I'm on the ground.

I sit on the grass for a moment in shock and silence, staring at the fluttering golden ball clutched in my hand. Then my teammates catch up to me. When the first one tumbles down on top of me, the bubble of silence around me bursts. Deafening shouts and cheers sound from the Gryffindor stands, and even some from Hufflepuff, invade my hearing.

We've won the Quidditch Cup.

After several minutes of incoherent joy amongst my teammates, I fight my way out of the dog pile. At the edge of the pitch, I can see my family. A shiver of elation races through me knowing they were able to be here to watch me. I race toward them, arms outstretched. I suppose I should feel lucky I don't trip on my Quidditch robes.

Dad waits with his arms outstretched and I leap at him, hugging him with all my might. He knows exactly how I feel. Tears streaming down my face, I smile widely and, releasing Dad, say, "We won."

Dad laughs. "Yes, I can see that."

"Bess, do the rest of us not exist?" Papa calls. I tear my eyes from Dad to see the rest of my family waiting to share. Roughly wiping the tears from my cheeks, I embrace Papa, feeling engulfed by him.

Releasing him, I hug Mom. I think she's crying almost as much as I am. She says nothing, but strokes my hair once, a small shudder running through her. The twins tear me away from Mom and hug me briefly. Any longer wouldn't be cool. Naomi smiles and clutches at my legs.

After embracing Dad one more time, I hear my teammates calling my name. I look over to see them beckoning me back to the castle for the celebration. Without saying a word, Dad shoves me toward them, shooing me away. Grinning and sniffling, I race away from my family to my team.

Professor McGonagall offers congratulations us in a subdued manner, but her eyes are twinkling almost as much as Professor Dumbledore's. Then my teammates tear me away to drag me back to the castle.

Amy Dailey, one of the Chasers, pokes me in the side and asks, "Was that your Dad?" Before I can reply, the uninjured Beater, Simon Moore, stops dead in his tracks in front of me. "But -- but -- that was Harry Potter!"

Amy smacks the back of his head. "You git. Couldn't you figure out that's her dad?"

I start laughing. Simon looks flustered and manages, "I just thought it was an uncanny resemblance."

Stopping to shove her hands onto her hips and stare incredulously, Amy adds, "And her flying ability?"

Simon throws his arms up in frustration. "Fine! I'm blind! I'm just the brawn to hit the Bludger, no brain." Then, turning on his heel, he continues toward the castle.

Amy and I turn to each other and begin laughing even harder. Only then do I notice the tickling sensation in my hand. I'm still holding the Snitch. Smiling, I say to Amy, "Race you!" and sprint for Gryffindor Tower.

Yes, I'm Hermione Granger's daughter and on track to become Head Girl just as she did. Yes, I'm Ron Weasley's daughter and have a wicked sense of humor. Yes, I'm Harry Potter's daughter and have just won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor. But I'm also just Elizabeth.


End file.
